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Chapter 527: The Ultimate Goal of Alchemy

“You may not understand alchemy well enough to evaluate it fairly.” Retnin stepped in before Rayleigh could do more damage. Kyle Sichi’s claim — that he already knew whether every product was useful — had been inflammatory enough; he needed to keep this from becoming a confrontation the Workshop could not win. “Alchemy is a process of constant change. Every formula represents a potential product. Not all of them produce immediate revenue, but they enable other discoveries. The value lies in the chain, not the individual link.”

“Exactly.” Rayleigh was still red-faced, but found his footing. “Snow powder itself began with ice nitrite derived from feces. The conversion is its own process; combining ice nitrite with other materials produces snow powder. None of this would exist without sustained exploration — years of it, sometimes decades. You cannot evaluate that with a balance sheet.” He fixed his stare on Kyle Sichi. “And if anyone claims he can tell you in advance which products are useful and which are not, he is lying.”

“What is your opinion?” Roland addressed the man beside him.

Kyle Sichi had waited out the speech with the equanimity of someone who had heard similar arguments before and found them interesting but not troubling. He stroked his whiskers. Let the silence settle. Let everyone in the courtyard stop talking. Then he spoke:

“Your Majesty, they say this because they have not probed into the nature of alchemy itself. I can demonstrate to you that their formulas are all known quantities. I already know whether each product is useful or not.”

The Workshop’s collected alchemists stared at him.

Retnin did not speak for a long moment. He was doing arithmetic in his head, and the arithmetic was damning: the Workshop had documented more than ten new formulas in the past two years alone. To read through them carefully would take days. And this elderly man from Border Town was claiming comprehensive knowledge of all of them?

He is insane. But the thought arrived alongside its counterpart: If he is wrong about even one, he will have lied to the king in front of witnesses.

Archer, the quietest of the three chiefs, stepped forward. His voice was careful, like a man carrying something fragile. “How do you propose to demonstrate this?”

“Simply.” Kyle walked toward them. “Give me the ingredients and I will give you the formula. Name your terms.”

Rayleigh’s self-control gave out completely. “Very well. Every ingredient in this Workshop is available to you. If you give even one formula incorrectly, His Majesty will know what your claim is worth.”

“And if I am correct?”

“That is impossible.” Archer shook his head. “Formulas cannot be exhausted. New combinations arise constantly. You are taking alchemy far too lightly.”

Something moved across Kyle Sichi’s face then — not offense. Something stranger. A look that contained, mixed together in proportions that were difficult to read, something like sympathy and something like old sadness.

“I’m not taking it lightly,” he said. “The problem is that you are wrong about alchemy from the beginning — or rather, you know nothing about the fundamental nature of matter.”

Retnin felt his temples begin to throb. “What did you say?”

“May I ask what you believe alchemy actually is?” Kyle’s voice remained level. “Do you think it chaotic? Too complex and volatile to master systematically? You are wrong. Not in some details — wrong from the foundation.”

“Nonsense!” Rayleigh could barely contain himself. “Are you saying the theories the sages built across generations are simple? If alchemy is simple, why does every rock differ from every other? Why are there thousands of distinct reactions?”

Kyle smiled. “Yes. It is simple. And orderly.”

“Then what—”

“The diversity of the world is a different question.” He was unruffled. “It falls outside the scope of alchemy, strictly speaking — in a higher domain that I have only recently begun to understand. But the reactions themselves, the combinations — those follow rules. Precise, invariable rules.”

“Enough.” Retnin put a hand on Rayleigh’s arm. Kept his voice controlled. “Send students to prepare the materials. We will let the facts speak.”

If he allowed Rayleigh to continue, Rayleigh would eventually say something that could not be unsaid. And if this Kyle Sichi was somehow correct — even on one or two formulas — the situation would become very complicated indeed.


A long table was set up in the Refining Hall: three vials, three pieces of paper, one formula per paper, each selected by one of the three chief alchemists. The test was clear. Fair, even. Retnin had ensured that the ingredients were written out but not the expected products — Kyle would have to supply those himself, from knowledge, without any help from the materials.

“Begin,” Retnin said.

Kyle looked at the first paper. Something moved in his expression — a flicker of surprise, quickly gone. “Burning a mixture of saltpeter and green alum.” He paused. “The double-stone acid-making method. You’ve learned it. The products are multiple solids and an acid capable of dissolving metals.” He wrote a row of compact symbols on the paper as he spoke.

Archer, who had written the first question, pressed his lips together. “Correct.”

Whispers moved through the room.

“Silence!” Retnin snapped. “Two questions remain.”

Rayleigh muttered something about luck. His voice had lost some of its previous force.

Kyle read the second question and his eyes narrowed slightly — he had caught something in it. “Green vitriol and copper. A tricky combination: the reaction doesn’t begin if the acid concentration is insufficient. With adequate acid and sufficient heat, the liquid turns blue and produces gas.” He looked up. “Am I missing anything?”

Rayleigh said nothing. Which was its own answer.

The third paper: Retnin’s own contribution, something he had obtained from alchemists in the Kingdom of Wolfheart and which very few people on this side of the mountains had ever seen. A white solid preserved in water. This, he thought, is the one he won’t know.

Kyle picked up the vial, tilted it, studied the solid suspended inside. “‘Just take out the Stone of the Netherworld,’” he read from the paper, then looked at the vial again. “This substance burns spontaneously in open air and produces white smoke and white solids.” He set it down. “Is that right?”

Retnin’s voice had to be retrieved from somewhere at a distance. “Yes.”

“Please.” Kyle turned to face the rest of the Hall. “Ask anything you like. I would prefer to demonstrate more thoroughly.”

The room broke open.

“What happens when you burn ocher and charcoal together?”

“Ocher is a form of iron ore. At sufficient temperature you can extract iron from it.”

“Why does smelted glass take different colors? You claimed alchemy is invariable!”

“Because of different impurities in the base materials. Pure gravel is required for crystal glass.”

“Sir Kyle, I have a question—”

“So do I—”

The atmosphere in the Refining Hall had shifted completely, and Retnin was watching it happen with a hollow feeling in his chest. The alchemists were not reacting with outrage anymore. They were curious. They were leaning forward. And the moment that happened — the moment they began to treat Kyle as someone worth learning from rather than someone to be refuted — the Workshop’s position in this negotiation had already changed.

“Enough!” Rayleigh’s voice cracked through the chatter. “These are all old formulas. The Workshop has known them for years. If you truly understand the nature of alchemy, write a formula no one has discovered. Any new formula. Or if you’re so confident — give us the ultimate goal of alchemy.”

Silence.

Everyone in the Hall knew what that meant. The Philosopher’s Stone. Transmutation. The ancient rumor of a substance that could transform common metal into gold — an idea so old and so persistent and so perpetually unconfirmed that it had become a symbol of everything unachievable about alchemy, which was both the dream and the joke.

Retnin did not believe it was possible. He had never met an alchemist who believed it was possible, not seriously, not in any way they would say out loud in daylight.

Kyle Sichi looked at Rayleigh for a moment. Then he smiled, and something in the quality of that smile made Retnin go still.

“Turning stone into gold?” Kyle said. “Of course. Let me show you.”

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